birthday bumps

A really interesting incident happened to me on my birthday. Other than the aging (gracefully) part. Other than the gift of Nine West heels (pretty pretty shoes!). I had traveled to Bombay to meet some friends and was returning in a rather crowded train. For those who have never traveled in a Bombay train, I must say it is an experience in itself. Trains and the train commute is as much a part of the culture of Bombay as the golden zari that forms intricate patterns in a sari. Nevertheless, navigating a crowded train is no mean feat. Still being fresh off the boat and not fully accustomed to traveling in crowded trains yet, I had taken a safe option of standing close to the door, flat against the walls of the compartment. Or so I thought. About 4 stations from where I was going to get down, a huge group of women boarded the train like an ocean wave. As I struggled to get my bearings, an obviously poor woman got on and proceeded to squat on the compartment floor right at the door (as uncommon as it may seem, squatting in compartments is quite a common practice due to the perennial lack of seats). This would have been quite fine, except that she chose to use my feet as some sort of cushion and squarely sat her buttocks on them. Now, I am fairly uncomfortable being at such close quarters with people I don’t know, much less allowing them use of my feet for seating their ass. So, I quickly pulled out my feet from under her at which she started yelling not to kick her. I had to gruffly inform her that she was the one sitting on my feet and so, I wasn’t kicking her but pulling my feet away.

Turns out this woman was rather drunk. Although, she was holding on to the pillar in the middle of the doorway, she swayed so steeply side to side to make it obvious that it was not the train’s motion causing her to sway. Of course, as any extremely drunk person, she could not keep her eyes open and very soon, started to lay down flat to sleep – right there, in the middle of the door, on the floor! Once again, she thought my feet were some kind of cushion (must have been really soft that day) and propped her head against them. Once more, I endeavored to pull my feet out from under her, telling her to wake up and not sleep in the doorway – she lay crouched in such a fetal manner that one steep turn and she would have rolled right off the train floor on to the train tracks! There were other women around me coaxing her as well at which she resumed her belligerent shouting.

Now, all this time I had been listening to my I pod so I could tell she was shouting but I really didn’t hear what she was saying. I knew better than to care. Curiously though, some of the women around were casting quick glances at me. Some even said “Don’t listen to her, she is crazy” or “She is drunk”. One of the women next to me even moved back and gave me space to crouch further into the compartment and away from the drunken lady. I did think it was odd behavior but I wrote it off as them wanting to avoid a catfight – especially between a young girl such as myself and a drunken old woman like her.

However, the real reason became clear only when we alighted. It seems that this drunken woman had somehow got it in her head that in pulling out my feet from under her, I had pushed her purse off the train. Now, she demanded Rs. 120 from me and threatened to beat me up if I didn’t give her the money. I must have laughed in her face – I was laughing in my mind at her ludicrousness. This woman who could barely stand was blaming me for losing her purse! Ha, the cheek! I started walking off, dismissing her. But to my shock, I realized that she was clutching on to my purse and refusing to let go. That really set me off! No one, especially that filthy woman had the right to touch my purse without asking me – and my leather Fendi at that! I asked to to leave the purse and she said in a very Keshto Mukherjee style “no”. I shouted at her to let go and leave me alone and she refused. She kept threatening to beat me up. “Sun, main tereko itna maarega na, tune mera purse giraaya. Mere ko ek-so-bees rupaya wapis kar (Listen to me, I am going to beat you up so bad, you lost my purse, give me my 120 rupees). She even threatened to take me to the police. This tottering, drunk and belligerent woman was telling me she would get me arrested. I managed to unhook her grip on my purse – that’s when it got really amusing.

The intoxicated buffoon couldn’t even stand and flopped onto her knees, at which point she grabbed my hands and started marching me to the police. Of course, she didn’t even know where she was, so she really didn’t know where she was going. She stopped soon and then changed her tune. Now, she wanted the money, not get me arrested. She kept slurring “Tu chal mere saath, aur paise de (you come with me and give me the money).” I asked her where she wanted to take me. She was so lost, she couldn’t even think. I kept asking her where she wanted to take me because I was so amused at her audacity and sheer foolishness at hoping to con me into getting money. She kept repeating herself like a broken record while trying to come up with an answer to my question. It was almost comical as every time she demanded to take me “somewhere”, I asked her where and we batted words back and forth like this for sometime. Finally, she said in slurred speech “Vhee-tee” (V.T. aka Victoria Terminus – the furthest end of train line in the heart of South Bombay). I laughed again and asked her if she even had any hosh of where she was. Of course she didn’t and I told her to herself together and then worry about her money.

I was getting tired of her belligerent behavior - the amusement wears off rather quickly - and I threatened to take her to the police if she didn’t shut up and talking lies. They were more likely to believe me than her anyway. When I said this, she quivered as she realized that it was a plausible truth. Watching her – this woman wearing a faded sari, with tobacco-stained brown teeth and crazed, yellowed eyes, I felt sorry for her state. Who knows why she was drunk - it might have been a tough husband, a frustrating life, a disappointing job. One thing Bombay does - it teaches yuou to develop the skin of a rhinoceros. One has so many problems of thir own to deal with, others' problems pale in significance. I too, am a culprit of such callousness as I just dismissed the drunk woman and walked off – I had to be home before my allowed deadline.

In the meantime, the woman had managed to compose herself and hurled vulgar abuses as I departed the platform.

Ah well, happy flocking birthday.